November 29, 2006

There's something about Carson Daly, though I'm not sure what it is. I mean, he's great to look at, but there are a lot of people who are great to look at. No, there's something else.

I watched him a few times when he was on Total Request Live on MTV some years back. He was handsome (still is, though about 20 lbs. lighter even though he wasn't 20 lbs overweight) and quick witted and seemed to have his finger on the pulse of what was hip and cool.

He was so popular on that show, that he was given a late night ... okay, a late, late, late night gig over at NBC as a talk show host. Last Call With Carson Daly began in 2002 and runs after Jay Leno, and Conan O'Brien which means, in most markets, at about 1:30am.

I don't think I'm sold on his interview technique. A little bit more hip than I'm comfortable with, he seems like he's friends with everyone who sits on his stage. And maybe he is, and if he is, I guess I shouldn't hold that against him, but I tend to get the feeling that they're all on this inside track that I'm not only not in on, but far from ever being near.

When Carson signed the talk show host deal with NBC it included a production arm as well. This would allow him to have some creative output and I'm sure gives NBC first dibs on anything he might come up with. And while an agreement like this is fairly standard not only with television stars, but feature stars as well, the direction Daly has taken is a little different.

Instead of focusing on television, he has turned his sights to the Internet. And so far he's doing pretty well. A few months ago he launched It's Your Show an interactive project that asks Internet savvy viewers to produce their own show and vie for a $100,000 prize. A form of the contest would then be cut into a broadcast show that Daly would host, presumably, on NBC. And he has already awarded a talent/development deal to a 20-year-old he caught on line.

Now comes word that he is expanding his presence on the Net. He serves as a strategic adviser for Campus MovieFest, an on-line film festival hub that boasts some 50,000 participants most of whom are in the key demo's of college age student.

There's something about Carson Daly, and I still don't know what it is. But maybe he does have his finger on the pulse of what's hip and what's cool. And while the rest of us are looking to television and theaters for entertainment's future, maybe it really is only as far away as the computer you're looking at right now. And maybe it takes someone as cool and hip and Daly to realize that.

November 28, 2006

Several states have enacted laws, or bills to protect the sanctity of marriage. Usually a divisive issue, I think readers will be surprised that I think I may be in favor of a bill, or law to protect marriage.

How else can we stop the 'in your face' flagrant abuse of that privilege by the likes of Britney Spears and Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson. I mean, wasn't it just a few weeks ago that Kid Rock and Anderson got married .... SEVERAL TIMES?

Hey, if marriage needs protection, it doesn't seem like they need it from a bunch of gay men and women who only want to commit for life, and gain the same rights and privileges as their non gay citizens.

Where is the religious outcry over heterosexuals who marry for a matter of hours? Or make a huge spectacle of marriage only to divorce weeks later? Who is putting marriage more in jeopardy than those who take it about as seriously as they do changing their underwear? Okay, probably less so even.

Of course I'm joking about supporting any kind of an amendment to protect marriage. And I'm against it because those laws ( and the absurd proposed Constitutional Amendment) target one segment of the population, namely gays, in specifically excluding them from a right granted others.

The hypocrisy in waging a battle against gay marriage is a smokescreen meant to keep the most conservative voters in line. It is a call to segregate one group of people from another, and thereby offering them, sometimes, separate but almost equal status with civil unions.

The sad truth is enough heterosexual couples are making a mockery of marriage that the religious right shouldn't feel threatened by gays, they should be threatened by their own ilk.

No relationship is perfect, and no one can say what, or who, will work and what or who won't. But to point the finger at gay people and say a marriage between two men or two women who love each other is somehow an obomination, and ignore those who CAN marry, and do so multiple times for only, months, weeks, or hours is disingenuous at best.

November 27, 2006

I love sunglasses. It's not like a fetish or anything, but I do love sunglasses. I love how I can wear shades and check people out, and they are, usually, none the wiser. Of course they're great for blocking sun too of course.

I had a couple of pairs of sunglasses for a long time. Some I'd wear when I did "sporty" things, which, as you can imagine, wasn't very often. Then there were the one's I'd wear when I was going out to a meeting or something, and then there were the ones I'd wear just for comfort sake.

As luck would have it, I ended up losing all of them. Well, maybe not losing so much as misplacing. One pair I know ended up on the table at a restaurant. A call to the restaurant only minutes later was met with a "sunglasses? nope, none turned in." Another pair was left on a table at a party, and the last pair, well, I'm not exactly sure where they ended up.

So for whatever reason, I had been sunglass free for almost a year. I don't know if it was some deep seeded emotional thing or what, but I couldn't bring myself to buy another pair.

Finally, I was on my way to an outdoor event this past summer, and I knew I needed to just buck up and get a new set. So Ray-Ban's it was, nothing too fancy, but nothing too cheap either.

I loved those glasses. They were comfortable, blocked UV or whatever that stuff is, and just made life wonderfully clearer and a little less blindingly bright.

So you would think that having only one pair of sunglasses would be infinitely easier to keep track of right? Well, yes and no.

As it would turn out, I finished a casting session that went until 6:00pm. Dark outside by this time, the production office was located in an area of town with few, if any street lamps. As I walked to my car I heard something fall out of my bag. I was certain it was a reel one of the actors had given me during their read.

Try as I might, I just couldn't see in the dark, so I decided to get in the car, and turn on the lights. Still nothing, So I thought, why not just back up a little to shed more light on the area. And that's when it happened.

A pop so loud it sounded like a gunshot. People from the production office ran outside to see if everything was okay. And of course, everything was not okay.

Laying in front of the tire of my truck was my new favorite pair of sunglasses which had, apparently, fallen behind that tire. Smashed beyond recognition I am, once again, sunglass-less.

The debate now, is whether to buy a new pair of Ray-Bans. A new pair of prescription sunglasses, or one of each. And if so, should I start wearing those little chains that old people wear around their neck. As silly as it might look, at least I'd know where my sunglasses were!

November 26, 2006

While I was born in Texas, I was pretty much raised in Southern California; San Diego to be exact.

And way back when, I can remember an incident that occurred that sent shock waves through our community. That incident was the murder of a young woman on her way home from her boyfriend's house one evening shortly after Christmas.

The only thing known at the time was that she had left her boyfriend's home one evening and was headed home, which was about a half hour drive. When she didn't arrive within that time frame, parents and her boyfriend began to worry, and they drove the route between the two homes. Her car was located on or near a freeway overpass, and when the police were called, the subsequent investigation found the body of the young woman who had been tossed over the side after having been strangled.

But how that incident occurred was a mystery to everyone.

What would come to pass, however, not only shook the community, but law enforcement statewide. The investigation into the murder of this young woman would point directly at a California Highway Patrol Officer. Tasked with making sure the stretch of highway this young woman drove was safe, it would come to light that he had actually pulled over many young women on this secluded stretch of freeway.

Court testimony would reveal that the young woman had fought with her attacker, and the Highway Patrol Officer showed up to work the next day with scratches to his face. Further evidence would show that fibers of clothing from the victim were on the police officer, and blood spatters that were his, were found on her clothing.

Almost immediately, police asked the public to be careful when pulling over, even at the request of an officer of the law. Everyone was instructed to drive to a well lit, public area. Not to open the window all the way, but just enough so that the officer could be heard, but not enough that the driver could be grabbed.

I bring all of this up because of two disturbing incidence that have happened recently. One, oddly enough, in San Diego, the other, in New York.

The San Diego incident occurred with a member of the San Diego Chargers a matter of weeks ago. Apparently an off duty police officer tried to pull over, or stop a person who he thought was driving while intoxicated. The driver, apparently not believing he was a police officer, resisted and shots were fired. In that case no one was killed, but the driver of the vehicle was injured and hospitalized.

Then, this weekend in New York, a groom leaving a bachelor party was involved in an altercation with an undercover police officer, in an unmarked car. The result of that incident? The groom was killed after his vehicle was hit 21 times by bullets fired from undercover police.

Now I don't pretend to know all the details of both incidents. I'm assuming they will all come to light in trail. But I do know that if it were late at night, and someone in a Mazda (which the San Diego off duty officer was driving) tried to pull me off the road, and flashed a badge, I'd be inclined not to pull over.

What happened in New York is still up for debate. Again, information will come out slowly I'm sure, with the majority of it at trail.

I wish I had a solution but I don't. All I can say is with news reports of snipers, fake police, and car jackings, it isn't outside the realm of believability to me, that someone could try to carjack, commit a crime or any of a number of things, while pretending to be a member of law enforcement. And when you're driving a Mazda and have only a badge to show for it, I'm not sure I'd be able to tell the real one from the fake one (the real badge is the top badge) and I don't think I'd pull over either.

November 25, 2006

Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette was booed when it was screened a the Cannes film festival. And, after having seen it, it doesn't surprise me. Not because it isn't a good film, it is. Instead Coppola has managed to portray one of history's most despised rulers in a favorable light. And I'm sure the French people aren't all too happy about that. After all, it was they who offed her head!

Some critics have claimed that the film is a fluff piece of nothing more than a music video. And again, I think they couldn't be more wrong.

Marie Antoinette is the story of a young girl, sent off to France to be married to a man she has never met, expected to produce an heir, and follow her husband's lead.

Of course her husband, the prince is a young man with other things on his mind than marriage and ruling a country. However, when his father dies, that is exactly what happens.

A deferential treatment of the Queen of France, Sophia Coppola's film is really more than that. A slam against rumor and tabloid journalism, a unique look at how the rich and famous live, and how they, in turn, must deal with gossip that can never truly be quieted.

Marie Antoinette has a stellar list of actors who bring the story to life, Kirsten Dunst, Jason Schwartzman, the amazing Judy Davis, Rip Torn and Steve Coogan to name a few. And Sophia Coppola has a wonderful way of getting her actors to give a little something more than they might otherwise. It really does seem as if they become their characters in a way that transcends the film in which they star.

And her use of time is refreshing and something not often seen in American film. That is to say, holding a scene a little longer than might seem necessary, or focusing a shot on something other than what could be the subject of a scene. In this way Coppola makes us seem like a fly on the wall. We see the scene, but we almost feel as though we're privy to something we wouldn't normally be allowed in on.

Her use of music has also ruffled some feathers.

While there is a wonderful original score, some of the music is augmented by New Wave songs featuring the likes of Adam Ant, Bow wow wow, Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Cure. But the music isn't used like some other films which try to modernize a story for youthful audiences. Instead the music here is a juxtaposition of Marie, her friends, and the times in which they live.

While it could be said she marched to the beat of a different drum, Sophia Coppola shows us to what extent that is true.

And while New Order is featured in the film, the song below was not. But it was used in the trailer for the film, and very effectively.

I enjoyed Marie Antoinette and can't wait to see what Sophia Coppola has in store for us next. She truly is a gifted director!

November 24, 2006

November is certainly a monumental month to some. For me, its impact is described in my last two posts. For the country, it was the month in which John F. Kennedy was assassinated, but it was also the month his younger brother, Robert F. Kennedy was born.

It's no surprise, I'm sure, that Bobby, the new film written and directed by Emelio Estevez, was released in November.

What is a surprise however, is how deftly Estevez has recreated a time, a feeling and a tragedy. His most ambitious film to date, the son of actor Martin Sheen is mostly known for acting, though he has penned a few scripts and directed a few more. But with Bobby, he manages to create a series of fictional characters who epitomize different segments of the time period. And while none of them is wholly fleshed out as they might be, they don't necessarily have to be because the movie is really a snapshot of that time.

Bobby takes place at the jewel that was once known as The Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Home to The Coconut Grove, The Ambassador Hotel was, for many years, the place to see and be seen. Any celebrity who was worth their weight in tabloid ink spent at least a few days at the hotel. And visiting presidents from the United States and other countries made sure it was the Ambassador they called home while in Los Angeles.

Sadly The Ambassador Hotel was torn down earlier this year. In a city with more children than schools, apparently, Los Angeles decided the property should be turned over to the school district who have plans to build one, or more campuses on that site.

And like the many celebrities who appear in Bobby, The Ambassador Hotel is another in the long list of characters. And that long list includes such names as Harry Belafonte Jr., Laurence Fishburne, Brian Geraghty in a truly inspired performance, the always wonderful Heather Graham, Anthony Hopkins, Helen Hunt, Joshua Jackson, David Krumholtz, Ashton Kutcher, Shia LaBeouf, Lindsay Lohan, William H. Macey and the list goes on.

Some critics have hit on the star power of this movie as one of it's weaker points. They suggest that the movie becomes a vehicle for cameo's. But while one could think that if they simply read the roster of talent, the truth is quite the opposite.

Estevez and Costume Designer Julie Weiss, along with an amazingly talented hair and make-up department are able to recreate a look that is only available in faded snapshots and old newsreel footage. Sharon Stone, wonderfully beautiful, looks like she stepped out of 1968 with bouffant hairdo, heavy make-up and false eye lashes that were all the rage back then.

And as much as the film may be about hope, or it's loss, it's also about transitions. And each actor is the embodiment of a particular segment of society as seen in 1968. Whether it's Ashton Kutcher as a drug dealing hippy, Lindsay Lohan and Elijah Wood as a young couple trying to save one more person from going to Viet Nam, Christian Slater as a man ignorant of the times in which he lives and Laurence Fishburne and Freddie Rodriguez as the face of relations between African American's and Hispanics in that very hot summer at the end of a very tumultuous decade.

Like any story with history as its backdrop, the end is a foregone conclusion. But utilizing rarely seen footage of Kennedy, and interweaving the stories of these fictional characters, Estevez has taken us back in time and we realize that as crazy as things may have been back then, there are so many similarities to the crazy times of today.

On June 6, 1968 the country knew little of what the future would hold, but it could be argued that with a candidate who called on the disenfranchised and troubled, and championed their causes, it might have been a brighter one, even if it be for a short time.

While the characters in Bobby are fictionalized, one character in particular, that of Pedro, played by the often overlooked Freddy Rodriquez, is patterned after Juan Romero the real life busboy at The Ambassador Hotel that fateful night.

Romero tells us, in that link above, that he is forever haunted by that evening. But we who see the image of the young Mexican boy, seemingly alone in that snapshot, giving comfort to a dying man who held the future of the country in his hands, is one that will live forever in the minds of all who see it.

And we realize that you don't have to be a movie star, or head of state to make a difference in the world. That to live your life truthfully and honorably, and to provide for your family, is a monumental achievement as great as king could decree.

November 23, 2006

"This is going to pinch a bit," the EMT told me as he tried to run a line in my left hand. I guess it did pinch a bit, but compared to the pain I was beginning to feel, it was nothing.

"I'm really sorry, we're going to have to try again," he continued. I just kept my eyes closed. It would be several more times before the line would be in and secure. "Can I have something for the pain, it's really starting to hurt," I asked.

The answer was delivered as I'm sure he had delivered it so many times before. Unfortunately it wasn't possible. Not yet anyway. The doctors at the hospital needed to evaluate me, and pain meds might mask an injury.

I opened my eyes a bit and looked to the EMT who was sitting beside me, he was writing on a clipboard of some type. He looked at me for a second, then I closed my eyes again.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked.

He told me of the hospital, at the time, the only one in my city with a Trauma Unit. "We'll be there shortly," he added.

Like in a movie, I opened my eyes when we arrived at the hospital and was greeted by green scrubs clad nurses and doctors. As I was wheeled down the hallway to the unit I could only see the ceiling, with each bank of fluorescent lights passing by like lines on a road...just like the movies.

Everyone was talking fast and saying things of which I had no idea. When we reached the trauma room, I was quickly transferred to the table. In an instant my pants were sliced up the seems with razor quickness and then simply pulled away. The same was done to my shirt and underwear.

I began to hurt badly. I had remarked to a friend, not a week earlier, that I had never had a broken bone, but that had all changed now.

Try as I might, I couldn't get comfortable, every part of me began to ache, and catching my breath seemed to be more and more difficult. The pain in my arm was the most pronounced. It felt as if I had a massive Charlie Horse that I couldn't get to go away. It didn't ache like a Charlie Horse though, it felt like ... well, I guess it felt like the bone had been broken. Which, of course, it had.

Methodically the doctors began to examine every part of my body. And I do mean doctors with a plural, and I do mean every part. At one point a doctor placed both hands on either side of my pelvis and gently pushed down. I gasped.

"Does this hurt?" He asked.

"Uh, no it tickles."

"What?"

"I'm sorry," was all I could think of to say, "I'm really ticklish, and that tickles."

"Well that's probably good then, it looks like your pelvis is intact, and that's good news." Then someone else shone a light in my eyes.

I'm not sure for how long the examination lasted. But the pain was unbearable and finally a nurse was allowed to administer some Morphine. Though I was warned it was just to dull the severity, but not to mask it. There were still other doctors who needed to examine me.

I remember, her, or another nurse, holding my hand. She didn't say a word really, didn't ask the ridiculous question of whether or not I was alright. She knew I wasn't. But for the first time that night I felt like I could process what was happening.

"Is there anyone you would like me to call?" she asked. Doctors still hovering around.

I told her yes, I asked her to call a very good friend. The nurse held the phone to my ear and I asked my friend to give my mom a call in the morning. Tell her I was in a small car accident and that I broke my arm but was okay. I didn't want my parents to worry.

I found out later my friend disregarded the part about waiting until sunrise, and making a phone call. She actually went to my parents house to break the news.

Then I asked the nurse to call the friend who I had spent the evening with earlier. Apparently his mom answered (we were still young enough that he too lived at home). As it would turn out, I wouldn't have the opportunity to speak with him for a couple of days.

As the doctors began to leave, I was told a surgeon would arrive in about an hour and once he evaluated me, then I might be able to have more Morphine.

I was shocked to hear about a surgeon. I knew I had a broken arm, I assumed my leg was broken, but that was all. For as doom and gloom as I can be at times, I honestly thought that I had broken two bones, would be placed in a cast for each, and in a few hours would be on my way home. Of course, that wasn't to be.

I just bit my lip because the pain was so bad. Then, in the area next to mine, the curtain couldn't contain the yelling of the man next door.

"Motorcycle accident," the nurse said.

He quieted down a bit, but began yelling shortly afterwords. Finally he was very quiet, and I thought maybe he had died.

"Is he okay? I mean...he stopped yelling," I said through clenched teeth and tears streaming down my face.

"He was in so much pain we had to sedate him."

Uh....HELLO!!! I couldn't believe that. All I could think of was I was trying to be nice in not screaming my bloody lungs out because there was nothing that could be done, and this poor guy next door screams a few times and he gets to sleep.

"ARGHHHHHHHH!!!," I yelled. And just kept yelling. It was that day that I learned, the squeaky well gets the morphine!

"Okay, okay," said the nurse. "I'll get a doctor in here and see what we can do, but really, it's best that you're not out, you're very seriously injured."

In the end, I got enough Morphine to settle down. The pain never left and it seemed like years before the next doctor arrived. I remember really crying this time, not from being afraid, but from the pain. It just hurt so bad.

And it was at that time that I began to realize how seriously hurt I was. I was told I had broken my left leg in several places, my left arm, and five ribs on my left side. I would learn some months later that I also had broken my collar bone, but I honestly never felt any pain in that area. Though the large knot in the bone is a good indication of that night. I would find out after I left the hospital that I had also ruptured a disk in my back. And it was then, that I realized why the doctors didn't want to administer too much pain medication.

When your body is traumatized, everything hurts, but sometimes you can tell what, or where. And medication just makes it much more confusing. I had no idea that I had spent six days in ICU. One day I woke up in a hospital room and thought for sure the accident had happened only hours before.

My dear friend who passed away last year, a nurse herself, later told me that she was certain my oxygen levels had to be wrong, she had never seen any so low.

As I began to remember, ICU was a blur of images; I remembered a doctor telling me they wanted to insert a thin tube into my leg that would pierce my heart, just to see if I had a blood clot in my lung.

Of course what the doctors had said was they wanted to insert a tube into a vein or something like that in my leg which they would push up to make its way to my lung to check for the clot. There was some risk however, in that they had to be careful NOT to puncture my heart.

Morphine was a wonderful duller of pain, but the side effect of conversations that never happened, and people who didn't exist was disconcerting.

After several days I learned I had undergone two operations and several "procedures," and would need another operation in about a years time. But, in the end, I came out of it alright. I was told a policeman came by the hospital and taken my clothes. He said that according to the tire marks on the road, the driver was traveling about 50 to 60 miles an hour when he lost control of the car. The impact threw me some 50 feet.

In a way I was lucky, he told my family. Apparently the point of impact wasn't directly head-on. Instead, the front left fender area of the car impacted my body. The policeman took my clothes because, apparently, at that rate of speed, there's a good possibility the fabric of my clothes might leave an impression in the paint. They just needed to find the car. They never did.

I spent another few days in the hospital, and several weeks at home in bed. When I could get out of bed finally, it would be in a wheelchair. And it was then that I was surprised when my parents prepared a Thanksgiving dinner.

It's funny, and silly, how you think about things when something like this happens. I clearly remember the first day I noticed my dad at the hospital. I was completely perplexed because he had never missed a day of work, and here he was, on a work day, visiting me. And I also remember thinking how much it sucked that the accident had happened during the Thanksgiving weekend because I had missed the traditional turkey dinner. One of my all time favorite meals.

It all seems so long ago, and of course it is. It was a lifetime ago. But this time of year, when a cold burst of wind catches me off guard, and the moon is just bright enough to make the outlines of trees and landscape, I think back to that time some 20 years ago this week. And I have to say a thankful prayer, not only for myself, but for my family, and friends who took care of me, for the doctors and nurses who watched after me.

And for those who may have suffered a similar incident, but with very different results.

November 22, 2006

The evening started out nice enough. I enjoyed the company of my friends, but then I always did.

Somehow we all ended up atDenny's. Late night coffee and dessert if I remember correctly. Well, I'm sure it was coffee for me anyway. Back then I could drink a gallon before bed and get to sleep with no problem. Things are a little different now.

After a long while the crowd started to thin. I hadn't driven that night, I rode with somone who, at the time could be (but wasn't) described as a "special friend." And it was at this point I realized my ride was nowhere to be found. He had 'taken someone home who didn't have a ride, but would return shortly' was the message. I felt a twinge of hurt because I knew who the ride had been offered to. With the clock ticking, and only myself and a couple left, it was apparent I would be walking home.

I was offered a ride by the couple, but declined. It was well after midnight, but the air was very cool and crisp and I thought a walk home would be okay, besides, it would give me a chance to clear my head a bit.

The walk home started out uneventfully. There wasn't much traffic, but then the route home didn't usually have much, even during daylight hours.

For some reason I made it a point to stay on the sidewalks, and cross at the lights. Even if they seemed to take forever with no cars to click them over. The walk was good. It did clear my mind a bit.

The route home took a path through some hills, and because of this the road is a winding one. But again, I made a point to stay on the sidewalk, even when it ended on one side of the street and began on the other. At this point of the road there was no signal light. Just some street lamps in the distance. I was very diligent in looking both ways and there were no cars, no sound of cars. Actually no sounds at all. It was very quiet, and cool, and the moon was bright.

I noticed, as I crossed the street, that some water was flowing over the roadway. It had rained earlier in the evening, and I guess this was the runoff, it made the road buckle a bit. I had noticed this when I drove on that road, but it was different walking over it.

I made it to the other side with no problem. I was less than three to four blocks from home. And it was at this point that I heard the engine. It started from far away, I turned around but couldn't see anything, the hills got in the way of the winding road. The neighborhood started just half a block away, so I continued walking.

To say it happened in an instant would give it too much time. A friend, once, innocently asked why I didn't just jump out of the way. I took a step back and slapped him. Lightly. And asked him why he didn't jump out of the way of my hand. It happened that quickly.

The roar of the engine was loud, but it was the screaming of the tires that was truly deafening. I turned around just in time to see a set of headlghts and then the most intense pressure my body had ever felt. The moon and stars were bright and clear that night, and the roadway glistened a bit, still wet from the earlier rain, the street lamps were that eerie yellow, not white like they used to be. And the moon and stars were bright and clear. Suddenly, I heard the most frightening sound I would ever remember, the voice pleaded for mercy "Oh God No," and it came from me. It was really as if I were two different people. One desperately trying to make sense of the incident, the other, screaming in abject horror.

And while I can't ever, even to this day, remember being more scared, it really didn't hurt. It was just an incredible amount of pressure. I remember realizing that I was face down on the iceplant covered ground. It was hard to breath, and while there was no pain, words can't convey how the terror I felt.

I tried to push myself up off the ground. But while my right arm seemed to work just fine, the left didn't. I remember looking at it, my mind saying lift, and my shoulder going through the motions, but my arm lay limp. I didn't think it was possible, but I became even more frightened.

Finally I decided to roll over to see if the car was on top of me. It wasn't, in fact, it wasn't near me at all. I looked and couldn't understand why it was some fifty feet away, on the sidewalk. My left leg didn't feel normal. I can't describe the feeling, but it just wasn't normal. Immediately I made sure I could move all my toes and fingers. I didn't know what else to do.

I can remember seeing the light colored car, or at least it looked light in the illumination of the moon. The figure in the driver's seat is non descript, just a silhouette of what looks like a man. He's as stunned as I am I thought to myself.

Then I watched as the car went in reverse, made some noise as it pulled itself off the iceplant, sidewalk and then plopped onto the road. Before long, it was driving off, past me. This time I knew it was me as I yelled for help. From impact to that point, time stood still. I couldn't tell you if a few seconds had passed, or fifteen minutes, it really stood still.

Then I noticed a man kneeling beside me, I think he held my hand. "Hold on" he said, "I'm going to get help."

"NO," I pleaded, "don't leave me." A woman came running, and the man told her to call 911. Time still didn't apply. I don't know how long I was laying there. I asked for water and someone went to get some. And slowly, very slowly I began to feel the pain.

Way off in the distance I could hear sirens, not just one, but several, they got closer and closer, and I could hear the screeching of tires again. I know I winced as I watched patrol car after patrol car come to a screaming stop in the road. It looked to me like they were going to crash into one another, but I was out of it so I didn't think any more of that.

"Wow guys, I thought you were going to crash into each other," said the man who was staying with me.

"Does anyone know who he is?" asked one policeman

I gave them my name.

"The ambulance is on the way, did anyone see what happened? Know what happened?" The policeman continued.

"I was walking on the sidewalk and got hit by a car," I answered again.

"Was he crossing the road?" asked the policeman again.

"HEY, I told you, I was crossing the street," I was pissed now.

Finally he directed his questions to me. He asked me if I knew what day it was, which elicited a tricky answer since it was Saturday night, but really Sunday morning. Then he asked me if I knew who the president was and finally my social security number.

Convinced I wasn't delusional, he told me that a helicopter was on its way and I would be at the hospital soon. And while I know this is going to sound weird, the mention of a helicopter made it all seem real. I didn't want it to be real, and I didn't want a helicopter.

And honestly, as if on cue, an ambulance pulled up. Two men got out and ran over to me. I don't remember much at this point, but I do remember a discussion on the walkie about who could get me to the Trauma Unit quicker, the ambulance who was on site, or the helicopter who was still en route. They decided on the ambulance..

The ride to the hospital was surreal, I had my hands folded on what I thought was a pillow on my stomach and chest, but looking down I realized that the EMT's had my shirt pulled apart at the buttons, and I had swollen so much from other injuries I didn't even know I had, that it looked like I was wearing a fat suit.

It was twenty years ago today, that I closed me eyes and listened to the EMT's chatting between themselves and the hospital, and the sound of a siren that made me wonder how this had all happened.

And as my doctor would say, many weeks later, "in a couple of years, no one will even know you were in an accident."